A Painted Goddess

by Victor Gischler

  I guess I’m just not dying fast enough for the bastard, Hark thought.

  Rina pushed.

  It was all in her mind, of course, but it helped her to think of it as pushing. She mentally put her shoulder against her willpower and thrust the point deep into the grimy layer that kept her from touching the spirit.

  The barrier stretched, growing thin and weak at the driving point of her sheer insistence. Her willpower was like a lance thrusting home.

  And then the barrier . . . ripped.

  Rina was through to the other side and tapped the deep well of her spirit. The power flooded into every part of her, filled every corner. And with it, as always, came the complete and perfect awareness of herself. If she wanted, she could count every hair on her head, knew the width of each fingernail, the landscape of every tooth, the position of each freckle.

  But to free herself of the paralyzing potion, she would need to look inward even more deeply.

  Her consciousness dove below the flesh of her arm, traveled up the bone to one of her fingers. She went inside one of her veins and got caught in the flow of her own blood. She examined every drop until she found what she was looking for.

  They looked like glowing blue crystals, spiked and clinging to the drops of blood like sandspur. The potion.

  Tapping into the spirit gave Rina total control of her own body. She simply needed to know what had to be done and focus. She ordered the corrupt blood to flow out of her finger, clean blood to replace it. A second later she was able to wiggle that finger. It felt stiff and ached, but she could do it.

  She repeated the process with the other four fingers and then the rest of the hand. She opened and closed her fist, working the muscles.

  Rina ignored the screams of pain and the crunch of weapons smashing armor. Whatever was happening was none of her business for another few seconds. She needed one good arm. That was all.

  She forced the potion up past her elbow, then past her shoulder. Her arm was free of it now.

  Jariko cast a spell, and the small clearing flashed with blue lightning.

  Rina rolled her shoulder. It felt like a rusty hinge, but it could move.

  It could strike.

  She reached out with her one good arm and latched on to the wizard’s wrist just as he was preparing to cast another spell. Jariko looked back, eyes wide with horror and realization.

  The strength of the bull tattoo flowed into Rina’s hand. She squeezed. Jariko’s wrist crunched and snapped like a fistful of dry twigs. The wizard screamed. She jerked hard, pulling him down into the cart with her. He fell across her legs, looking up at her, terrified.

  Rina let go of his wrist and latched on to his throat. She guessed how she must look. The rest of her was still paralyzed, her head lolling to one side, eyes glassy and unblinking. It must have seemed as if her arm moved independently of the rest of her. As if it were possessed by some demon specter.

  She squeezed once, and Jariko’s neck snapped, eyes rolling back in his head.

  Rina sat in the cart for long seconds, listening. Whatever had happened, it was over now. She saw bodies on the ground in front of her but couldn’t turn her head to see anything else.

  She focused, repeating the same trick as before, chasing the potion from her other arm, legs, head. She pulled it from every part of her body until it was a knot of bright pain in the middle of her stomach. Rina pushed the dead wizard off her, crawled to the edge of the cart, and gagged.

  At first nothing came up. She gagged again, chest and throat burning. Rina’s mouth suddenly tasted sour, and she spit. She still had the potion gathered in her gut.

  Her back hunched, mouth opening so wide her jaw hurt. She vomited a long stream of hot fluid that spattered on the ground, steaming and sizzling. It was a mix of blood and digestive fluid and Jariko’s potion. The smell hit her, and she spewed a second gout of vomit on top of the first.

  She collapsed trembling in the back of the cart. A slick sheen of cold sweat covered her body. Rina was still tapped into the spirit. She pushed away all pain and discomfort, commanded her limbs to obey. She lurched to her knees. Then to her feet. She stepped over the first two bodies, her eyes going wide at the third.

  Bishop Hark!

  She knelt next to the man who was down in the mud, gently turned him over. “Bishop.”

  Hark’s eyes flickered open. His mouth worked but no words came out.

  “Easy,” Rina said. “I’ve got you.”

  Rina hadn’t seen everything that had happened, but it was an easy guess that Hark had been on the receiving end of whatever spell Jariko had cast.

  “I’m sorry,” Rina said. “I know you’re hurt, but we’ve got to go. I don’t know where we are, and I don’t know how many other soldiers might arrive at any second. I don’t know anything. Can you tell me which way to go?”

  Hark lifted a hand. It shook. He pointed west and a little north. “Your h-horse. And y-your arm-muh-mor.”

  “Okay. Don’t talk anymore. I’m going to put you on your horse. It might hurt. Sorry.”

  Hark nodded, head shaky. It wasn’t completely clear if he understood what was happening.

  Rina gathered him up, his stout form draped over one of her shoulders, and stood. Even with the bull strength, the fully armored bishop was no easy burden. She took him to a hidden horse and tossed him over the saddle. He grunted but seemed otherwise unhurt.

  We’ve got to go. We need to move fast before more soldiers come.

  She took the horse’s reins and headed out in the direction Hark had indicated.

  Rina remembered she was still tapped into the spirit. Having undergone incredible torments to touch the spirit again, she was reluctant to let it go, but she knew the dangers of hanging on too long. She could drain herself, burn herself out. Her spirit well was deep but not inexhaustible.

  She released her hold on the spirit.

  Immediately she fell to her knees, going dizzy and sick, every muscle in her body aching. Obviously the only thing that had let her function was being tapped into the spirit. She was wiped out. Hours—days?—of slumping paralyzed in the back of a Perranese cart had taken their toll. Her muscles and joints were stiff. Impossibly, she was alive, but she wouldn’t stay that way if she couldn’t summon the will to move.

  She willed herself to her feet, legs quivering, sweat breaking out on her forehead and under her arms. She breathed in through her nose, exhaled raggedly out of her mouth. She closed her eyes tight, waited for the dizziness to pass, then opened them again.

  A cry rose from deep in the forest behind her. The distant clank of armor and rustle of men gathering and coming through the wood.

  Move, you stupid girl. Get out of here.

  Rina tugged at the reins and headed west, each halting step a stab of pain in her limbs. She forced herself to move quickly in spite of the pain, weaving between the trees, putting one foot in front of the other with dogged determination. A minute later, she was no less panicked. Five minutes later, and she started to feel she’d put some safe distance between her and the Perranese.

  Ten minutes later she’d found her horse with her weapons and armor. She felt almost whole again once she donned the armor and strapped on her weapons. A general sort of fatigue weighed her down, but the awareness she’d escaped a very close call buoyed her up again. She was damn lucky to be alive. It was a lesson, really. No matter how powerful she felt, no matter what kind of strength the tattoos gave her, there were no guarantees. Anything could happen. At any time.

  She went to Hark still draped over the horse.

  “Bishop Hark,” she said. “I think we’re in the clear, but we’d better keep moving. They could catch up to us easily.”

  No response.

  “Bishop Hark.” She felt his neck.

  He lay pale and motionless.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Edgar who?” Brasley asked.

  “One of the hired toughs we brought along to guard our backs,” Talbun said. “He
made it this far. We were ambushed at the last.”

  Olgen, Talbun, and Brasley stared down at the corpse.

  “Ambushed?” Brasley frowned. “This place is abandoned, isn’t it?” His eyes darted from Olgen to Talbun and back again. “Are you saying the Great Library is not an abandoned ruin?”

  Olgen cleared his throat. “Well, no. I mean, that is to say, there is dispute among the scholars about whether or not there remain living inhabitants in the depths of the Great Library, but those theories are not necessarily pertinent here. The far more likely explanation is that this fellow fell victim to one of the other expeditions.”

  Brasley’s eyes widened. “One of the other expeditions?”

  “Yes.”

  “An expedition like us?” Brasley asked.

  “Yes.”

  Brasley cleared his throat. “Am I to understand that expeditions prey upon other expeditions?”

  “Hardly ever,” Olgen said. “But yes.”

  “Well.” Brasley blew out a tired sigh. “Fantastic.”

  “Sadly, not all expeditions are motivated by the wonder of discovery,” Olgen said. “Some are simply out for some quick coin, and it is easier to rob their fellow explorers of treasure than it is to find it for themselves.”

  “I feel like this might be something that could have been mentioned sooner,” Brasley said. “Like before entering the library.”

  Olgen turned to Talbun, face puzzled. “You knew him?”

  “Yes.”

  Olgen looked at the body, then back to her. “But the corpse has obviously been here for many years.”

  Talbun frowned and narrowed her eyes. “So?”

  “So . . . uh . . . nothing.” Olgen rapidly elected to focus his attention elsewhere. “There’s a small room up here. I think I’ll have a look.” He stepped lively down the hall away from them, lantern held aloft as he went.

  Brasley moved to stand next to Talbun. They both looked down at the corpse the wizard had called Edgar.

  “Part of your expedition?” Brasley asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see who killed him?”

  “I killed him,” Talbun said.

  “Well,” Brasley said. “That’s perfect. I do love a good story.”

  “There’s no time to go into the details.”

  “I’ll settle for the basics.”

  “We had a disagreement over an artifact we’d found,” Talbun said.

  “So you shot him with a crossbow?”

  “He tried to kill me first. Look, Brasley, I’m the all-powerful wizard here, remember? I don’t answer to you or—”

  “Milord! Milady! Come have a look,” Olgen called from down the hall.

  “We can continue this later,” Brasley said.

  They were quickly walking toward the sound of Olgen’s voice when Talbun stopped abruptly to gawk at a narrow arched doorway that had caved in, a ton of cracked and broken building blocks completely blocking it.

  “What is it?” Brasley asked.

  “It’s a cave-in.”

  “The place is ancient,” Brasley said. “There are probably cave-ins all over the place.”

  “You don’t understand,” Talbun said. “This is the way I came out last time I was here. I’d hoped to go back this way.”

  Brasley pushed one of the larger blocks. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Come on,” Talbun said. “Let’s see what the guide’s found.”

  Olgen stood at the edge of a doorway, peering into a small room. Brasley and Talbun looked past him into it. Nothing.

  “I’m missing something,” Brasley said.

  Olgen pointed along the walls. “Look at those very thick ropes. See how they disappear into the ceiling one way and then down into the floor also?”

  Brasley squinted at the ropes. “Ah. Yes. This is obviously . . . the rope room.”

  “No, begging your pardon, milord,” Olgen said. “Do either you or milady have a background in engineering?”

  “Sorry, no,” Brasley said. “My line is more drinking and womanizing. Although I am recently married.”

  “Ah. No, I meant scholarly pursuits.” Olgen turned to Talbun. “Milady?”

  “Magical studies,” Talbun said vaguely.

  “I believe this is a lift,” Olgen said.

  “A what?” Brasley asked.

  “I think I know what he means,” Talbun said. “A means for moving up and down within the Great Library. I’ve heard rumors of such.”

  Olgen beamed. “Just so, milady. It is a miracle of engineering only whispered about in the high places of the university.”

  “There’s nothing special about ropes and pulleys,” Brasley said.

  “Please don’t misunderstand, milord,” Olgen said. “This isn’t anything as simple as that. It is a perfectly balanced system that allows you to go up or down to any level in the library. If the stories are true, that is. Engineering is not my field, but I can’t pass up this opportunity to examine the mechanisms. Without a doubt the university will want to send master engineers to examine the lift . . . if that is indeed what this is.”

  Brasley gestured into the room. “By all means. Have a look.”

  Olgen set foot into the room. Then another foot. He entered slowly, hands drawn up to his chest as if he didn’t want to accidently touch anything, eyes wide.

  Talbun followed. “If it’s still operational, the lift might be useful. Could save us a lot of time.”

  Brasley rolled his eyes. “If it still works and if we can figure out how to use it. Everything in this damn place is falling apart, remember?”

  He led the goat cart into the room.

  Iron doors slammed closed behind him, sealing them in the room.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Brasley said.

  “What did you do?” Talbun demanded. “Did you touch something?”

  “I didn’t touch a damn thing,” Brasley insisted.

  Looking back, Brasley saw two rows of short levers, at least a dozen for each row. Next to that was a larger lever shoved all the way into the up position.

  “One of these levers opens it up again, I expect.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Talbun said.

  “Our combined weight must have triggered the doors to close,” Olgen said. “That’s a guess, obviously.”

  “Well, I don’t fancy being trapped in such a small space,” Brasley said.

  “Just stay calm,” Talbun said.

  “I’ll be calm enough when I’m not trapped anymore,” Brasley insisted.

  “I imagine those small levers choose what level the lift takes us to,” Olgen mused. “Or maybe a combination of levers. Fascinating.”

  “No, not fucking fascinating,” Brasley said. “Very annoying. I want out of here. I don’t like being confined. Not with a goat especially.”

  “Let’s just figure this out,” Talbun said.

  “If all these smaller levers decide which level we go to, then this big lever must open the door.” Brasley grabbed the lever.

  Olgen’s eyes shot wide. “Milord!”

  Talbun lunged for him. “Brasley, no!”

  Brasley yanked the big lever all the way down.

  There was a distant clunk, and in a split second they were all thrown to the floor as the lift sped upward at a staggering speed.

  Brasley heard somebody screaming and realized it was him, his face pressed flat against the cold stone floor. The little room sped up and up.

  And up.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brasley struggled to push himself back to his hands and knees, but the lift flew upward at such a velocity, he could barely move. Ropes and pulleys rattled as they passed each level. The goat bleated panic. Olgen nearly matched the goat’s terror, screaming sheer guttural fear.

  If he could get to his feet, maybe Brasley could grab the big lever and flip it up again. Maybe it would stop their reckless ascent, and then they could—
r />   There was the crack and smash of the world breaking. The little room shook so violently, Brasley knew he was going to die.

  The lift stopped.

  Because it had smashed into something.

  “We must have collided with the top level.” Olgen looked pale, a sheen of sweat on his face.

  Brasley gestured to a set of iron doors similar to those that had closed behind them on one of the lower levels. “Do you think one of the levers would open those?”

  “Don’t fucking touch any more levers,” Talbun barked.

  Something creaked and groaned and snapped, and the floor tilted abruptly.

  Brasley threw his arms out to his side for balance. “I would like to be on the other side of those doors, please.”

  Olgen set his lantern down and went to the doors, stuck his fingers into the seam where they closed together, and tried to pry them apart. “Stuck fast.”

  The floor lurched again. Grinding noises came from somewhere above them.

  Brasley looked pointedly at Talbun. “Can’t you do anything? You know.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger. “Something from up here?” Come on, woman. What’s the point of being a wizard if you can’t magic us out of this?

  She nibbled a bottom lip, considering. “Maybe. But I’m pretty sure it would incinerate us too.”

  “And we’re still thinking the levers are a bad idea?”

  Something groaned, the sound of metal bending. The little room shook.

  Talbun raised her hands, doubt on her face. “I guess we’ve got to try something.”

  “Wait!” Brasley rushed to the cart just as the floor tilted again, almost knocking him off his feet. He rummaged the supplies in back and came out with a long metal pry bar. “I thought the supply vendor was just milking me when I bought these tools, but thank Dumo I did.”

  He waved Olgen out of the way and jammed the end of the pry bar into the crack where the doors met. He worked it back and forth until he edged it in a few inches, and then he put all of his strength into prying one way and then another, muscles straining, face going red.